


Whiskey Sour

by ohhstark



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4355165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhstark/pseuds/ohhstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bartenders are kind of like therapists. And they don't have to have a degree to prescribe medicine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

She collapses into the empty chair at the almost-as-empty bar. It's quiet, a rare relief from the droves of people wandering around outside. Of course, she's in the heart of Atlanta on a Saturday night, so she should probably just thank her stars it isn't any worse. Although, that gets her to thinking. If it _is_ a Saturday, shouldn't there be more people in here?

"Can I help you?" a gruff voice at her elbow startles her. She feels the sharp flare of heat in her cheeks when she jerks around and takes in the sight of the bartender wiping a glass down with a surprisingly clean rag.

"Sorry," she blurts out, adamantly not noticing the strain of his muscles in that short-sleeved shirt. She didn't notice the dark sweep of his hair or his gorgeous blue eyes either, thank you very much.

She flushes anew when he lets a chuckle loose at the sight of her. He shrugs his shoulder and places the glass down in front of her.

"You come here often?" It's obvious he's teasing her, a roguish smile curling one corner of his lips. She thinks on the question and she thinks of shutting him down, but then she's always been a sucker for a nice smile. And this guy's got the nicest one she's seen in a while.

"You ask all the ladies that? Or am I just that lucky?" she quips. It's his turn to flush. She tries not to preen with pride. He looks like an unruffable guy, but then she's not so good with reading men lately. The thought sobers her up immediately and she shakes her head.

"I'll just have a Whiskey Sour, thanks." She almost feels bad as the smile is wiped off his face as easily as it had come. It's a shame really, but she didn't just run away from one psycho only to stumble into the arms of another one.

So, she hunches over her glass and stares blankly at the football game playing on the television over the left side of the bar. The world falls away a little more as she tosses her drink back. The liquid burns all the way down to her stomach. It's a good feeling, she thinks. Convicted, she waves the bartender over again. He fills her glass. She can see the questions in his eyes, can see that he wants to talk to her. For the life of her she can't imagine why. She'd spent so long being told that she wasn't worth anything, that nobody would give a damn if she just disappeared off the face of the Earth, that the idea of anyone finding her interesting is almost laughable.

"Don't go too far," she tells him. Doesn't know why she says that and throws her second glass back to cover up her own confusion. Maybe drinking was a bad idea. She could feel her tongue growing loose in her mouth and she knew it would be only a matter of time before she started talking the guy's ear off. Although weren't they a little like Therapists? Sworn to secrecy and all that?

She fixes him with a look. He returns to fill her glass again. She asks him about the therapy. He laughs again, the sound rolling up from the pits of his gut, and she finds herself laughing with him.

If his smile was nice, his laughter is gorgeous and she allows herself exactly three seconds to appreciate him for all that he is. Then she slips from her chair, leaves forty dollars on the bar top, and stalks out of the bar without so much as a thank you or goodbye. Her drink abandoned and perspiring in front of the slightly bewildered stranger.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

He's off the next three days, go figure. So he does something that he knows he'll feel stupid as Hell for later on. He can't ask Glenn. He's too _awkward college kid that probably won't remember the favor he's asking anyway._ Then there's Andrea and Maggie. He knows they'll just use it as another excuse to poke fun and generally make his life a living Hell for the foreseeable future. And then there's Shane, the asshole owner of the place, who he'd never ask a favor of if they were the last two people on the whole God damned planet.

Instead, he asks Ms. McCleod. The fierce old lady who he wouldn't think should be in a place like this cleaning up after the filth of humanity, but she does it with a fucking smile on her face every other day, and he respects her a lot for it.

He stops her at closing the night that _she_ strolled into that bar and ripped his whole life to shreds. Only he hadn't realized it then. Wouldn't realize it for a long time. But he must have known something because he stops Ms. McLeod and asks her in his quiet way if she could watch out for someone for him. A tiny slip of a woman with her heart in her eyes and a chip on her shoulder big enough to tank the Titanic a second time over. Ms. McLeod, bless her heart, smiles and tells him she will. Tells him she'll do him one better and call him up the moment the woman passes the threshold. He tells her, flushed and heated all over, that isn't necessary. But as he walks away (does not run, would never run from something so stupid) he hopes that she ignores his words and calls anyway.

***

She doesn't call. He tries not to feel too put-out. It was a long shot and he figures, with the way she left the joint that night, he wasn't liable to see her ever again.

He goes into work three days later. He's replacing Maggie and he thanks the God he doesn't believe in that she has plans. That she won't stick around to talk to him after her shift. He's feeling pissed off and strung out and he wants to get piss drunk, but he's got to get _other people_ piss drunk. And isn't that just the way.

Two hours into his shift. The place is dead quiet. He hasn't had but three customers. Two of which have left already, stumbling out with laughter heaving out of their lungs. The other's passed out in a booth. Probably catching a fucking catnap or some shit before he jolts awake and downs some more vodka. He's about to take a smoke break when the front door creaks open. He's told Shane they need to get the damn thing oiled, but when he looks up and swallows the sight of her, he's never been gladder for his dipshit of a boss.

She's beautiful in the dim lights over the bar top. He tries not to grin like an idiot, tries not to show her how pleased he is that of all the nights for her to show up again she picked this one. He must have done something real good in a past life to earn this. Doesn't really think about the conundrum until all is said and done. If he'd earned this in some past life, the fuck had he done wrong in all the other ones to make him deserve what came before? And what came after?

***

She doesn't order a Whiskey Sour. Doesn't order anything for a very long time. It's like everything's faded away. He's hyper aware of every shuddering breath breaking free of her lips. Of the jerky, fluttering dance her hands are doing in her lap. It's irrational and completely unlike him, but he thinks he wants to reach out and touch her. He can't and that's sort of the point isn't it? But he wants to, oh, how he wants to.

He must have known it before. There's a sadness in her eyes. A sadness that goes deep enough to poison and fester and rot in her soul. A sadness that he feels in himself sometimes. He tries not to feel the kinship. Tries not to identify with her. Attachment isn't something you really pick up with his job. Isn't something you pick up as a Dixon with his life and his past and his God damned family.

"You need a drink?" he asks, tries not to be self-conscious of the croak in his voice. Feels the relief blossom in his chest when she, _finally_ , raises her eyes to his own and nods.

"First round's on the house," he says and feels the way her eyes burn into him when he takes two shot glasses from the wall and fills them with whiskey. He meets her eyes, his eyebrows quirking upwards in a challenge. She laughs at him and snatches the shot glass. With a twist of her wrist the liquid is past her lips and crawling down her throat. He ignores completely, almost, what that does to his insides _what it does to his southern parts_ and throws back his own shot. He could get fired for this, he knows, but it was worth it to put that look on her face. Third parts mischief, caution, and relief. He doesn't know what will come of this, but he's got hope in the pit of his heart for the first time in a long while. And damn his soul to Hell, but it feels fucking incredible.

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

He ends up throwing the only other customer in the place out. It's still a mystery to her how empty this place is, how untouched, but she won't start complaining. Especially when he finishes locking up and turns towards her, that glint in his eye and the heat of the Atlanta night curving his lips. He really is beautiful, she can admit that now. She knows it's a bad idea. She knows it will probably be the end of everything she fought and carved for herself in this city, but she can't really find it in herself to care.

Especially when he drops into the stool next to her and bends his hard, lithe body over the counter. Close enough to tough. Close enough to dig her fingers in and never let go. She turns her head to stare off into the distance, scrabbling for anything to get her mind off her arousal. Her thoughts land _just there_ on the little girl that she can never truly forget. The little girl who broke the spell she'd been under since she was 19 years old. Only for her to find that it was a day late and a fleeting life short.

The silence is suddenly deafening and she realizes that he's long since set the bottle of whiskey down. He's long since focused his attention. He must know about the tears rolling down her face, but he doesn't say anything, just pulls a rag out of his pocket and tosses it non-too-gently at her. She chokes on a bitter laugh and mops up her face.

"Sorry," she says and realizes it's the first thing she's said to him in three days. The word festers on her tongue. Makes her wish she'd never strolled into this place at all. Because he's making her feel and mourn and laugh all over again and it just isn't fair. He's twenty years too late. She doesn't know if she can be that girl anymore, that bright-eyed thing with the stars in her head and the world at her fingertips. Then feels stupid when she catches up with her thoughts again. The man's been nothing but kind and even though she's about 80 percent sure there's an unspoken attraction between them, he's given her no hints that's where he wants tonight to end.

So she heaves a sigh, forcing all the expectation and the disasters just waiting to happen from her mind. She wants to just be and she has a feeling that maybe he does too.

"I'm Carol by the way," she says, voice empty of the bitterness. Full of a calm hope that makes her smile at him like she never has before. She can see his response, a gentle caress of his eyes, before he nods in acknowledgement.

"I'm Daryl."

"Nice to meet you," she says, meaning it with all her heart. Though she can't realize how important those words are in the grand scheme of things. Can't know the twist of fate they're messing with. "Now, unless you're gonna spill your life story, let's drink."

And when she doesn't even bother with the shot glasses, just upends the bottle into her waiting mouth, it earns another deep-belly laugh from him. The one that makes her insides curl and her mouth dry up. If she wasn't certain before, she's certain now. Being friends with this one is going to be much harder than she ever imagined.

***

He doesn't drink often. He's been told, quite vehemently, on a number of occasions that he's a mean drunk. Especially when whiskey is involved. But there's something about her, some sixth sense he has about her when she walked into the bar that night, that she shouldn't be left alone to drink. As alone as you can get with a bartender in the wings waiting to fill your glass.

So he throws out the jackass in the booth, is sure the guy isn't half conscious enough to realize what's happening, and locks up the place. He can feel her eyes on him as he crosses the room and fishes for the bottle of whiskey under the bar and he can't help the erection that springs up in response. It's crazy how horny he is and he thinks, in a different life and under very different circumstances, he would be brave enough to say to Hell with the booze. He would be brave enough to sweep the stools out of the way, sweep her up onto the bar top, and press himself between her legs. But he won't. He can't.

There's something about this woman, something different. And though the arousal for her is still there, the _want_ is still there, it isn't his primary motivation. He wants to...God but he wants to burrow inside her and never leave. And it's almost enough to scare him off. Almost. He's never felt this way about anyone and it's crazy and just maybe that voice in his head, the one that sounds like his dick of a brother, will shut up long enough for him to push logic out of the equation. For once, he'd like to just _be_ and he has a feeling that she does too. Wants to hope they're on the same wavelength in this.

And when he sees the shine of tears on her face, the voice does shut up. Leaves his mind blissfully blank for once. He hands her the rag he's got in his pocket and shifts a little uncomfortably, keeping his eyes trained on the wall until she presses the rough cloth into his upended palm again.

They exchange introductions and he feels a thrill at breaking down a barrier. Names have power, his momma always said. And he's never felt so powerful as when her name rolls off his lips hours later. When he's shaking and pumping his hand along his length. Unable to stop from picturing her laid out before him and wanting. Unable to stop himself from seeing her in all manner of positions and places as he comes with the sharp shock of his orgasm and those five letters clinging like cobwebs to his sated mind.

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


	4. Chapter 4

 

"We've gotta stop meeting like this," she says in greeting. He flushes, ducking his head so she doesn't see the red climbing up his neck. It's only been three days since that night in the dark with the memory of her fingers underneath his fueling his release. Three days since he realized that he was in some deep, deep shit.

When he finally has the courage in him to look up at her again, she's turned just so in the dim lights over the bar and it sends sparks flying in his brain. She's so beautiful it's unfair. Back in the day, she'd have men fightin' wars over her hand. She'd have moved the Greek and Roman empires with a flick of her gaze, turned the seas and skies if she had a mind to. And seeing that mischievous look on her face when she faces him again makes him sure that she would have a mind to.

"So, are we drinking together tonight or was that a one-time thing?" He shakes his head. There's no one in here, but Shane'll be there soon to relieve him and he can't risk being caught with his hand in his pants so to speak. He's never given Shane a reason to dislike him or even distrust him, but he can see it on the other man's face clear as day whenever they're in the same room. He hates it, hates him. It is, that look, just another reminder that he'll never be better than white trash. He'll never amount to more than this bar and his one-bedroom trailer and his mangy dog. It used to be enough for him. He'd convinced himself time and time again that he would never have more, would never _be_ more.

But being around this woman, Carol, makes him want to. It's strange being half in love with someone when you don't know anything about them. They haven't got past names and there's something thrilling about that. This way, they're just two people finding a weird sense of comfort with each other. They could be anyone at any time anywhere in the world.

So, when he grins at her and pours her a generous shot of vodka on the house, he decides there's no time to take life by the horns than _now_.

"I'll do you one better. I get off in about twenty minutes. We can do something, together, if you want after," he tells her, determined to keep eye contact. Even though his insides are itching with anxiety and somewhere in the back of his mind, the center holding all of his deep-seated instincts is exploding to bits. He couldn't care less when she nods and throws the shot into her mouth, pink lips moving in a way that should be criminal.

He shifts on his feet, glad there's a solid block of wood between her eyes and the front of his pants.

***

What promised to be a damn good night turned all to shit faster than he could upend a bar stool and beam his boss upside the face.

Shane got there at 9, right on the dot too. He'd strolled into the place like he was fuckin' God himself and Daryl couldn't help the twist of his lips or the growl that threatened to breach his tightly closed mouth. Jesus Christ, he hated his boss. And it'd all gone downhill from there.

Piece o' shit that he was, he took one look at Carol and got that look in his eyes. A look of want that turned Daryl's mouth to ash. So he busied himself with cleaning glasses, wiping down the booths, anything to keep himself busy and away from them. He could feel the rejection like a stone in his gut. Why in the Hell would she ever want a man like him when she could have Shane? He was good looking, objectively speaking, and he had that swagger of confidence that women flocked to. While he was...well he was him with the scars on his back and his foot half-way out the door wasn't he?

He scrubbed even more furiously at the table and nearly flew off the handle when he felt something small and full of heat and lily-white grip his bare shoulder. He twisted around and found her there, with a smile on her face and a question on her lips. And he gave himself a beat before thinking, _to Hell with all of it if she'd just look at me like this for the rest of my life._

"You ready to get out of here?" she said. He nodded and did nothing to stop her when she grabbed his hand and dragged him, chuckling despite himself, to her car outside.

He doesn't ask her how she knows that he's between cars right now. Doesn't ask her how she knows that he doesn't like the radio on where there's another person in the car. Doesn't ask her how she knows that he doesn't want to be with her around other people. But she knows all the same. He grins when she finally pulls to a stop outside of a tiny white house with a picket fence and a tree with a tire swing.

It's so perfectly _her_ that he sort of can't deal with it. So he just turns and smiles at her and wonders, again, what he did to deserve this woman happening into his life. He's so caught up in her soft smile and the distance between their fingers on the seat. So caught up in her that he doesn't even notice what's happening, what's already happened, until it's all there staring him in the face.

And when he does realize, when he _knows_ , it's a punch to his gut and to the heart that she's had clasped between her fingers from the moment she walked into his bar. It's kind of like being swept out to sea and only registering the fact when you're half way out in the Atlantic with the jaws of a thousand sharks closing in around your legs. He never expected to feel this way, never expected to get even close. Yet here he is falling over himself to grab up her hand and press the gentlest kiss to her cheek. The smile she gives him is enough to let him know he isn't the only one in this. She's right there with him. So, he opens his mouth and lets the words tumble out. Hopes to God he doesn't fuck up just another thing, the only thing, in his life.

"I don't know much about love, but, I think I might be learning," he says. Could close his eyes and scream for getting it right. But he doesn't close his eyes. He doesn't scream. She doesn't really give him a chance. Just crawls into his lap and presses herself so close that he thinks she might be trying to crawl into him.

"We don't even know each other," she says, a faint whisper in his ear that he knows isn't quite true.  Is true enough to make him doubt for but a moment. But then he pushes her back and stares up into her eyes for what feels like forever.

"Ain't nothing," he tells her and Lord help him, but he believes it like he's never believed in anything.

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Neither of them knows how long they sit in that old Cherokee. It feels like forever and no time at all. It's a strange thing, whatever is between them. But for once in their lives, they aren't questioning.

Society would tell them they're wrong. Whatever they think is happening _is all just a matter of hormones and solace_ and whatever else they can think of. But it's not. She can feel it in her very soul as she tugs him by the hand over her threshold and into her world. Fully and completely cognizant of what she is doing. It may not be right, it may not even be smart, but she sees something in this man that almost makes peace with the shadow of her little girl. The echo of the daughter she lost only a year ago.

She doesn't tell him this, can't tell him. It's too soon but they've got all the time in the world for trading war stories. Forever if they damn well feel like it.

"This house...." Daryl trails off. The sight of him in her kitchen doing nothing to dampen the glowing embers of desire in the swell of her stomach. He's as beautiful as he ever has been. Beautiful in his simplicity. Beautiful in his gentle eyes and careful hands. Beautiful in all the ways that he isn't, shouldn't be, _is_.

"It's not much, but it's mine," she tells him as she walks up behind him. He nods. Like he understands what she's not saying. And it settles something inside her, excites something else. Her hand comes up, seemingly of its own accord, and lands on his shoulder. It burns, this intimacy. But she's in love with it. Is in love with him. So she walks through the flames. Wonders if she comes out of it as strong as she imagines she does.

The way he turns and smiles down at her doesn't leave much room for doubt. He leans towards her, his entire body bending around her. Shielding her from the dark and whatever monsters are lurking just beyond their periphery. She can see it in his eyes. The desire that mirrors her own. She wonders if he will kiss her, hopes to every God there is that he does. She needs this, needs him in a way that's so thrilling. So terrifying. There was a time she believed she would never have this. Even a time she believed that she no longer deserved this level of happiness. That was before. She's a different woman now, stronger for all the things she's had to sacrifice to get here.

So she doesn't question herself. Does not doubt that they are in this together. Does not doubt that they are exactly where they're supposed to be. It was no coincidence, them meeting that night that seems so very long ago, and she has no intentions of wasting what fate threw to their feet.

His fingers are hot as they glide along the hollow of her throat. Reverential, patient, unreal. She can't help herself. She tosses her head back, pushes her hips into his own. _Feels him long and hard and waiting for her_ against her. She's gotta give it to him, he's much stronger than she is. Other than the way he locks his jaw and glares over her head, she'd never know he was reacting to her touch. She wonders how mad he'd be if she laughed, but then he's pushed her back into the counter. And it's so far from funny and he's so hot. Ablaze beneath her searching fingers with his lips and hands everywhere.

She lets him do his own searching, lets him map the curve of her neck and the width of her shoulders. Lets him fit the palm of his hand to her breast, fingering her nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a way that's good enough to almost hurt. Wonders how he even learned any of this with how obviously he doesn't have a way with words. Though to be fair, where they're headed, not a whole lot of things need to be said. And maybe that's the whole point.

She's aching all over for him by the time he finally brushes his knuckles above the waistband of her jeans. He doesn't dip inside right away and she isn't nearly brave enough to take hold of him to put him exactly where she wants him. That's when she notices that he's looking at her, boring holes into her face more like. So she glances up at him, isn't ready at all for what she sees in his eyes. No one, and by that _the only one_ , had never given her a chance to say no. Had never given her a say so in what they did sexually. But this man, this frustrating and impossible and gentle man is giving her the option. Looking down at her like the rejection would kill him, but respecting her enough to say that he didn't care about that as long as she was alright. It brings tears to her eyes.

And she regrets it the moment he sees. He nods, unable to look at her anymore, and steps away like _he's_ the one who's been burned. It only makes her cry harder. Because he cares, he really does, and it's almost too much to handle.

"No, no," she whispers. Stumbling forward to press herself into his chest again. "I'm sorry, it's not that. I do, I really do." She honestly doesn't know how she sounds so coherent. The tears are streaming down her face and her throat is already closing up, distorting her voice.

"There's a lot you don't know." It's obviously the wrong thing to say because he freezes underneath her cheek. She wraps her arms around him, grounding him. Preventing him from pulling away. "And that's okay.

"No one has ever made sure that I was okay before. I wasn't always this way."

She doesn't elaborate and it seems she doesn't have to. And if she wasn't sure before, she is now. He knows, understands _everything_ she says in the spaces between her words. They both breathe a sigh and she wonders if she's ruined the night.

After a span of silence, he finally leans away and places his hands on her arms. He looks calmer now, but he's also resigned. She almost feels guilty until he places a quick kiss on her forehead. Though he's made himself clear. No sex for them tonight.

"I'll take the couch." Before she can say a word, he's half way across the kitchen. She splutters after him, unsure where everything went so terribly wrong.

"Now just, wait a minute, Daryl. I've got a perfectly good bed not twenty feet over there. We don't have to do anything, we can just sleep," she finishes lamely. He turns and fixes her with a look that makes it clear he isn't going to be swayed. She feels seventeen again. Awkward and wanting but knowing they probably should take a breather.

"Honey, if we sleep in the same bed, then there's no doubt about what isn't going to happen tonight." She flushes red all over, thankful that they hadn't turned on any lights. Unable to keep the fluttering out of her stomach or her heart. So she turns and grabs him some blankets and a pillow from her bed. He shouldn't be too uncomfortable. She's slept on that couch more times than she can count, more than she'd care to admit to.

She passes him the things in her arms and is half-way through turning around and high tailing it out of there before her wrist is caught in his hand.

"Carol," is all he says, all he needs to say. His voice has gone soft again, like he's afraid if he speaks too loud he might ruin this. She doesn't think anything could, hopes that she's right for every moment they're together.

"Daryl," she quips. Snags a kiss on his cheek for everything she can't truly thank him for and steals away to her bedroom. She doesn't sleep for a while, but as she drifts off, it isn't the memory of her little girl that replaces her reality. It's that man with his leather jacket and his smile and the little bit of her heart that he so graciously hasn't captured for himself.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


	6. Chapter 6

 

He wakes up. It's sudden and there's a lot of heavy breathing as he struggles to grip reality. Where the fuck am I and what the fuck did I drink last night cross his mind but they don't stick. Because of course he knows and he didn't. Then it hits him with the force of a freight train why he's awake. It was that same old nightmare. His old man at his back, striking him over and over and over with his belt. And it's much too much and nothing at all and everything. It's only after he's passed enough bile to take down a horse that he realizes he isn't alone. She's there helping him to hold the bucket under his head with one hand. The other is chasing shudders up and down his back.

"'M sorry," he says, hoarse and like he's about to cry. Fuck, he can only imagine how much shit his brother would give him for that. Feels that equal-parts-relief-as-regret mingling with the terror still running circles through his mind.

"Don't be sorry. You didn't get any on the carpet," she says. But it's too soft, too serious to be what she means it to be. He can't look at her, knows what he'll see in her eyes. Thinks he knows anyway. Hopes he's wrong because things had been going so good. Leave it to his long-dead daddy to keep fucking up things for him.

He closes his eyes and rubs a quaking hand over his face, which screws up when he becomes aware of the lingering taste in his mouth. She sees, of course she does.

"Look, it's nearly dawn and I don't think either of us are going to sleep again. There's an extra toothbrush in my spare bathroom, towels, that kind of thing," and at this, she finally leans away from him. Her hand slips away and it's _terrifying_ how much and how quickly he misses it's presence. "Why don't you go and take a shower, brush your teeth, whatever you want. I'll put on some coffee."

Just like that, she stands up. Walks towards her kitchen. It burns him, the curiosity for her lack of it.

"You don't want to know what just happened?" he blurts out, ears tinged pink. It's not that he wants to talk about it exactly, but the fact that _she_ doesn't is new. He's never met a woman who didn't want to talk after one of his episodes. It hasn't happened that much, but enough that he knows the drill. Thought he knew the drill.

She just fixes him with that stare, the blue of her eyes clear and knowing in a way that should make him squirm. Just makes him deeply, completely _sad_.

"I'll be in the kitchen when you get out," she says. And that's that, all he'll get, because she's turned around and disappeared around the corner before he can form a response.

***

He takes his time in the bathroom. But there's not enough of it in the universe to stop the inevitability of walking out of there and having to face her again. Though, he has a feeling it won't be so bad. She didn't push him like the others. Didn't demand to know why she'd been woken up before the sun had even touched the Earth of her front yard. And he appreciates that.

So he hangs up his towel and heads out. Hoping for at least a few seconds to prepare himself for this. Is thankful when it doesn't happen. He figures he must have been in there for a long time. Because she's returned to the living room. Is cradled in the sun nook facing the Eastern skyline. The pink and gold and orange sunrise is shining on her, _through_ her. It's breathtaking and something in him sings finally and at last.

"Hey," he mutters, settling on the couch and grabbing at the steaming cup on the table next to him. He hates to ruin this beautiful morning for her, but he can't see anyway around this, can only see the way through. It'll be hard, but he never imagined talking about his past would be anything _but_.

He sees her move out of the corner of his eye. Wishes she'd come sit beside him and start rubbing his back again. She doesn't. Just stares at him over the rim of her cup across the room, might as well be across the damn World for all intents and purposes. He can't really blame her. She's got enough scars of her own without taking his on too. She's here though isn't she? It has to mean something and he uses that to fuel the words sticking at the back of his throat.

"My daddy, he wasn't a good guy. Used to beat my brother, Merle. Started on me when I was 'bout seven. I'd dropped a plate and he caught his foot on a piece that I missed. Stupid o' me.

"It weren't so bad for a while. Merle took the brunt of it, but he left for the military when I was ten. I hated him for a long time, but...." He knew that his brother was another story for another time. Trailed off because that pain was still new, still raw. Even if he could talk about it, he wasn't sure if he would even know how. Merle had been a bastard, but he was family. The only family Daryl had known for a very long while.

"Anyway, my daddy laid all his anger out on me. I took it, was too much of a pussy to do what Merle woulda done, until he died. I had just turned eighteen so I left that shit hole we were in. Moved here and I ain't ever been back since."

There's a silence that fills the air then. Permeated with regret and what ifs and the bitter taste of sorrow clinging to the back of his throat. He lifts the coffee to his mouth and sucks down half the cup, stubbornly ignoring the way it scalds him. Hopes it will burn away every memory of his father and the damage he left in his wake.

Is so caught up in the hope that he almost doesn't feel her sit down next to him again. Almost doesn't feel that warmth on his back or her head falling down on his shoulder.

She doesn't try to apologize for what that prick did twenty years ago. She doesn't cry or tell him that it doesn't matter now because the past should well stay there. She just hugs him and rubs that hand along his spine. It's enough. It's more than.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


	7. Chapter 7

 

It's like she's permanently glued to his side. She doesn't want to pull away, isn't sure if he's okay with her touching him like this. Decides that until he bodily shoves her away, she must be alright where she is. 

And then there's the matter of _her turn_ , which they both must have decided on somewhere along the way. Because not long after he finishes, she opens her mouth and the words start to pour out. Her hand is still running up and down his back. He's so warm beneath his black t-shirt and she can't help but enjoy this closeness, despite the topic of conversation. 

She tells him about what she was like at 19. Taking summer classes at the local community college. Bright-eyed and ready to take the World by storm. Except she doesn't get that far. She meets Ed Peletier before she can even properly spread her wings. He snatches her up with his soft-spoken words and his gentle touches and the lies that just built and built and built until she is not sure that  _she_ is the one speaking through her teeth.

She tells him about the following summer. She is fourteen weeks pregnant and glowing under her white veil. Her mother and father are dead so there is no one to lift her veil. But he does. Ed does and her cheeks are aching from smiling so much. She can't stop. The joy is eating her up inside and it's the most beautiful feeling. They kiss beneath the church eaves. She did not know then how royally fucked she was. 

She goes on and soon, she is giving birth to the daughter that meant the world to her. She still has a bruise that's throbbing and yellow marring the lily-white expanse of her thigh. But the doctor doesn't say anything, so neither does she. He never touched her stomach and that's all that matters really. She holds her daughter and names her Sophia. Ed is not in the delivery room, does not visit during their hospital stay, and she has to call a cab to return home. But she doesn't care, at least not until he yanks her inside and slams her up against the door, demanding to know where she has been. He never acknowledges the baby screaming in the front hall of their home. 

She leaves out the years and years of abuse she took from him. Made sure to fill him on Sophia growing up. She was a quiet child, reserved in a way that she wouldn't have been had she been born to a different daddy. She tells him about trips to petting zoos and long drives to their favorite ice cream shop on the other side of town. It's probably not obvious to him how quickly this will all turn sour. It wasn't obvious to her either, so she doesn't blame him for not seeing the signs. 

She gets pregnant again. Hopes, because it's all she can do, that maybe this will be a new start for them. Believes it with her whole heart because Ed does calm down, even takes the time to go to her appointments when he can get off work. It's good for a while. Better than it's ever been and Sophia even starts to get close to her father. It's more than she ever could have hoped for. But then something goes wrong, very wrong. They tell her she wasn't eating enough. They tell her there was too much blood loss. They tell her that their son is dead inside her and that they have to induce her to get him out. When it's all over with, Ed shows her just how much this failure hit him. And when he's done laying his fists into her, he rounds on Sophia. So she takes a frying pan full of hot grease and tosses it towards him. Doesn't wait to hear his screams of agony before she's taken up Sophia's hand and fled their home. 

She goes quiet and Daryl doesn't press her to keep going. Doesn't ask after Sophia or the asshole that she'd left hurting on her kitchen floor. He just grabs her and presses her to his chest. She hasn't properly cried once about what happened to her over a year ago, but she smells his skin and hears the gentle  _thump, thump_ of his heart under her ear and it's all over for her. The sob rushes up her throat, past her lips, and she can't stop. He doesn't say much but when he pulls her closer and tucks his chin over the crown of her head, they both know he doesn't have to. 

 

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


	8. Chapter 8

 

They don't get much farther than their far past. He's got work at the bar and she's got errands to run. So she makes him a cup of coffee all while trying (and failing) not to laugh at the number of times he scoops his spoon into her sugar jar. It's cute and it's almost overwhelming until he looks over at her and makes a face at her silently shaking shoulders. Then it's just hilarious. The laughter that fills her tiny kitchen fills _so much more_ and before she knows it she's pressed against the cabinet. Her chest heaving. Her lips trembling. Her eyes are staring up into his.

_Finally,_ she thinks a moment before he bends his face over the remaining distance. He kisses her like it's their last day together. He kisses her like the World is ending and when she realizes that it is, she starts to give as good as she gets. They're all sharp angles and corners but it works. And pretty soon their plans for the day are dashed. 

His hands grab at her ass, pressing her just there. She groans around the tongue seeking entrance to her mouth. Wraps her legs around his hips.

"Bedroom," he asks. Says really because there's no doubt where this is going. Where it has been going since the moment they first met. She nods and hangs tight as he does this weird shuffle towards her bedroom door. It would be funny if it didn't feel so God damned _good_.

When he finally presses her down into the cool expanse of her sheets, it's like a dam bursts inside her. She's never wanted anyone so much in her life. Never really had the chance before, but that's not really the point. She thinks that she got such a shit first chance because it was all leading to this second one. She thinks maybe that if she'd never met and married Ed that she never would have ended up in Atlanta. Never would have walked into that bar on that night to meet him. All that things that could have gone wrong and yet they still found each other. Still fell in love. And if she didn't know before, she knows now. She is in love with Daryl. Madly, deeply, wonderfully.

He leans back and stares down at her. His pupils are blown so wide that she's not sure where the blackness of desire ends. He's never been so handsome. It's a good look on him, lust. She vows to keep it on him for as often as she can as long as she can. He smiles and so does she. It's all so perfect and she should be thinking about how it could end before it's even begun, but he doesn't really give her the chance. Just presses his lips to her neck, not kissing just lingering there.

"Need you, babe," he says. She nods and reaches between them to unbutton his jeans while he undoes hers. His fingertips skim along the sensitive skin just above where she needs him most, her nerves tingling behind his touch.

"I need you too. We can go slow next time. Just, _please_ ," she says. Pleads because it's the only thing she can do.

It's quick and it's fast and they can't find a rhythm that works, not yet. But it's also perfectly mind-numbing. They fit perfectly and with each slide of his cock inside of her, they both approach the heights that neither of them have experienced before. When they finally topple off that cliff, they both come with each other's names on their lips. They come entangled in each other's arms, breathing the same air and feeling the same rush of euphoria. They never knew it could be like this. They know now. They _know_. And that's all that really matters.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.


	9. Chapter 9

 

It's after the sweat has cooled and their hearts have stopped beating so fast that reality hits. And it's all so much to take in. They haven't even known each other for two weeks, but they're committed. They're in this, whatever  _this_ is. 

It should scare the piss out of both of them, but it doesn't. Pretty soon they start talking about moving in together. She tells him about Sophia staying with some friends of hers, The Grimes, while she figures out things between her and Ed. He tells her that he lives with his brother. He swears Merle is an asshole, but she's still bound and determined to meet him at least once. They talk about everything and nothing that day. And when the words run dry, they find themselves rolling over and meeting in the middle. All heated flesh and shared grins. 

Then they dream. They fall asleep with their arms wrapped around each other. Now that they've had their fill of each other, there is no going back. He's hanging on and so is she. A lifetime of waiting and they've already wasted so much time without. They dream of the house above their heads. They dream of Sophia playing in the yard, of Daryl driving a truck up to the house and throwing his arms around his girls, of kisses in the bright sunlight of dawn. They dream of happiness. And it's what they get. 

***

"You shouldn't be so serious all the time, babe. You'll get frown lines," she says. Her voice is all lilted teasing and even though she's annoying the shit out of him, he has to grin at the counter he's wiping down. 

"You're a piece a' work you know. Don't know why I put up wit' ya," he drawls, teasing her right back. It's such a far stretch from where he was only three short months ago and she doesn't know why she's so emotional lately, but it brings a tear to her eye. She's quick to duck her face and wipe it away though. He still gets a little gun shy around her when tears are involved. 

"When are you gonna be ready to head out?" she says as she reaches under the counter for the whiskey bottle he put there just for her, "You're driving home tonight, by the way." He jerks his head to show he's heard her. 

"Give me 'bout ten minutes?"

She nods and throws back a shot. It'd been a long day, not to mention unpleasant. She'd got a burner phone, by Merle's suggestion, in order to contact Ed. It would be nearly impossible to finalize the divorce through written correspondence, so she'd bitten the bullet and done it. He'd been pissed, especially the bit about relinquishing his parental rights over Sophia. Only because he needed that one last thing to keep his control over  _her_. At which point Merle had taken the phone and kindly reminded the piece of shit what he could do, what he had done to men just like him, and that had shut Ed up real fast. 

Placing the shot glass down, her eyes get drawn to the man half way across the room. She's brought back to the first time she ever saw him. She's brought back to the man she's given her heart and soul to in the past few months. Finds she doesn't need the alcohol nearly as much when his eyes meet hers. He's still just as beautiful now as he was then. Still as utterly breathtaking. 

She knows it probably shouldn't work. Is reminded even now that what they have should not be but still is. She knows all the reasons that they should both high tail it in opposite directions. Also knows the reasons why they just can't do that.  _  
_

His hand, so warm and  _there_ at the base of her spine, scatters her thoughts in the wind. She realizes that even if she was thinking seriously about leaving, she wouldn't be able to do it. He makes her better, grounds her, makes her feel alive. You don't just throw that kind of thing away. 

And she has no intention to. 

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

Thirteen months is a long time by any stretch of the imagination. In a different life, that was the amount of time it took her to figure out the sort of man her ex-husband really was. It was enough time for her to get pregnant and give birth to her child only to realize that the father wanted nothing to do with her. But the past, as they say, should stay there and she's learned not to bring up things that don't matter in the least anymore. 

In this new life, the one that she built from the ashes in that tiny house with it's white picket fence and tire swing, thirteen months is still a long time. Enough time to settle and decide and love. Enough time to realize that she isn't alone in the world anymore. She's got a family now and yeah maybe they're all defined by their pasts, but that doesn't have to be the case for their future. The asshole, the drifter, the would-be orphan, the ex-wife. They all have their place. Their family is small and just a little bit out-of-whack, but they are none of them broken beyond repair. And it's from the torn down remains of their old lives that they build a new one. It's from that old life that they make a new family and bring another soul into the world. 

***

"Baby bro, I got somethin' to say to ya," Merle says one afternoon. They're lounging in the late afternoon son watching Sophia chase butterflies, cold beers in their hands and conversation flowing as it's apt to do nowadays. It's a welcome change from the men they used to be, the kind of brothers they used to be. 

"Go on and say it then," Daryl shoots back with a good-natured grin. 

"You ain't gonna like it, but I think Carol's still got another lil one itchin' to come out. She been a real hell-cat ever since you brought her home."

"It's probably just you, Merle. She's been nothin' but nice to me," Daryl replies, shooting him a look over his beer. Merle rolls his eyes and shifts in his chair so he can lay his head back and close his eyes. 

"Yeah I bet she's been  _real_ sweet on you. She was in the hospital for what? A week and a half? Hell of a long time to be away from each other, if ya ask me."

"Christ, Merle, watch what you say in front of my daughter," Daryl says, ears turning pink at the insinuation in his brother's voice. Even if it is true, there's no need to go around bragging about it. When Merle doesn't immediately say anything else, the silence fills the space between their chairs and it only takes him a moment to swivel his head. Alarm clear in his eyes to anyone. They just stare at each other and it's a rare moment because Merle's eyes have never been  _this_ clear, have never said so much before. They contain all the things that he won't ever say, could never say because of the way they were brought up. Things like  _I'm proud of you_ and  _I'm so happy that you have a family now_. But Daryl can see it, clear as day, and he just claps his brother's shoulder in understanding and happiness.  _  
_

Just then, there's a beep from the front gate that has all three of them jumping to their feet and rushing over to the waiting Cherokee Jeep. Daryl can just make out Carol's face over the steering wheel. Can't see at all the little bundle wrapped up in his car seat in the back. Not that it's the first time he'll see his son, but it's the first time he'll see him at home and there's something special about that fact. 

There'd been some complications with the birth. The cord had gotten wrapped around his neck on the way out. Not to mention Carol was on the tail end of the recommended time frame for child bearing. So their son was already two weeks old and hadn't yet seen the inside of their house. 

Merle swung the gate open, letting Carol drive up into the yard. She parked and Daryl was already on the door handle, Sophia waiting at his elbow with wide eyes and an excited grin that matched his own. Carol laughed at the two of them from the front seat, swinging around to watch them. Merle hung back a bit, watching the family that had come to mean more to him than his own hide, something he never thought possible after the life that they'd all had. 

Daryl opened up the car door and took in the sight of his child, his little fist scrunched up beside his face and his blue eyes swiveling between the three familiar faces looking at him. Daryl reached inside, gently undoing the car seat straps and finally,  _finally_ pulled him out. He stepped back from the car and Sophia was right there, her fingers reaching out to her brother's hand. He latched onto her pinky, his eyebrows furrowed in consternation. It was only when Carol sidled up beside Daryl and put her arms around her family that he smiled. His entire face broke out into a grin that had them all smiling with true joy, all of their hearts swelling with love. Even the hardened man with the heart of gold that was kept so closely guarded behind a steel wall built up through a lifetime of disappointment. 

 

 

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Note:**

> Now translated in Russian: https://ficbook.net/readfic/4354826


End file.
